


All My Heart This Night Rejoicing

by enigmaticblue



Series: Home for the Holidays [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Not Fade Away. A Christmas story, but not really fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Written as sort of my revenge for Wesley’s death. While I have to admit to being relieved since he is (apparently) beyond Joss’s ability to torture, I still wasn’t entirely happy with the way his character was treated the last couple seasons. So, if Joss gets to kill Wesley, I get to kill everyone else. (Joss was half-there already.)

The tips of Spike’s ears were growing numb, and he shrugged his shoulders inside his duster, knowing that it wouldn’t help much. His hands were warm enough at least, buried deep inside his pockets. He’d never been quite so grateful for his coat before.

 

Vampires didn’t notice the cold, of course, but he wasn’t really a vampire any longer. Not really human, either. Six months, and he still had no clue _what_ he was exactly. All he knew was when they had walked into that alley behind the Hyperion hotel, it had been as a group, and he’d been a souled vampire. When he walked out, he’d been alone, and he had no idea what he was.

 

To this day, Spike wasn’t certain what had happened. One minute they’d been facing a horde of demons, hell-bent on their destruction, with Angel saying he wanted to slay a dragon. The next moment Gunn had been dead. (Illyria had been right on the mark in her prediction; the man hadn’t lasted ten minutes.) Angel had been the next to go—apparently dragons really did breathe fire.

 

Spike had been prepared to die for the second time in a year. It wouldn’t be in a blaze of glory this time, but it would be suitably bloody—fists, fangs, and sod all else. Spike would get his wish: he would go down fighting.

 

Then it was all over. The demon horde had disappeared, along with Illyria. It was almost as if the very ground had swallowed them up. Spike had awoken in the alley, drenched by the still-pouring rain, staring into Gunn’s sightless eyes.

 

He’d surprised himself by immediately hyperventilating, and then had found it impossible to stop breathing ever since. Spike was still strong, still agile, but he had no need for blood, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he was now mortal.

 

Some days he wondered if the Powers hadn’t made a mistake, or if Wesley hadn’t been wrong when he’d translated the text in question. Of course, the Shanshu prophecy only said that the souled vampire would “live until he died,” with no mention of actually becoming human. Spike thought it was a lot like having the Gem of Amara might have been.

 

Except without the guilt. Spike could have done without the guilt.

 

It had taken him this long just to get the dosh for a round-trip ticket, since he wasn’t certain of his reception. He felt he owed it to Buffy to tell her what had happened. To offer her what little comfort he could.

 

He owed it to Angel and the others to tell their story, to bear witness to what had happened.

 

Spike had spent a couple weeks holed up in the Hyperion, wondering if the Senior Partners would send someone after him. He’d broken into the gang’s apartments, looking for things he could use or sell. As they were dead, Spike didn’t think they’d begrudge him that at least.

 

It was worse than when he’d been a ghost, haunting Wolfram & Hart. At least then he’d had Fred to talk to on occasion, and it had been fun irritating Angel. Now, there was no one—no one to care that he’d been the only one to survive the apocalypse, no one to care where he was or what he was doing. If it hadn’t been for his goal to see Buffy again, to explain what had happened—well, Spike wasn’t quite sure what he would have done.

 

Actually, he did know. He would have probably disappeared into a bottle, and slowly killed himself. It wasn’t the ending Spike would have chosen.

 

He’d rather have died in that alley.

 

So here he was, standing outside Buffy’s Rome apartment, trying to get up the nerve to go up and knock on her door. Spike wished he’d thought to purchase some liquid courage, but maybe this was better done sober.

 

 

Squaring his shoulders, and steeling himself for whatever reaction he might get, Spike strode into the building, knocking on the door he remembered as being Buffy’s. Belatedly, he realized that she might have moved since then; he had no way of knowing.

 

Three quick raps and then silence, wondering all the while why he hadn’t just called, or sent a letter or something. Even an email. Why on earth had he thought this message needed to be delivered in person?

 

Spike couldn’t say why it surprised him that Dawn answered the door, but he knew he probably wore the same shocked look that the girl did. “Spike?”

 

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her incredulous tone. It reminded him that he probably should have let her know he was alive before this.

 

Of course, Spike hadn’t been certain that she cared.

 

“Spike?” Dawn repeated. “What—no, wait, how did you get here?”

 

“Flew,” he said glibly, trying to get the Big Bad mask back in place. It was harder these days.

 

Dawn frowned. “No, I mean why are you alive? You died.”

 

“Didn’t take,” Spike said quickly, glancing away. “Your sister at home?”

 

She blinked, trying to get her equilibrium back. Dawn had never expected to see Spike again, and here he was, in the flesh. “No, she’s in England for the holidays, visiting Giles. She just broke up with her latest boyfriend, so she decided to get out of here for a while.”

 

“Right.” Spike sighed, hitching the duffel bag over his shoulder a little more securely. “I’ll just—”

 

“Get in here,” Dawn said, cutting him off. When Spike looked surprised, Dawn moderated her tone. “You can’t leave, not when you just got here.”

 

He tried for a smile, but the expression looked out of place on his face. Spike looked older, Dawn thought. And tired—his face was tightly drawn, and she noticed the dark circles under his eyes for the first time.

 

In fact, Spike looked a lot like he had after he’d returned to Sunnydale with the soul, before Buffy had verbally kicked his ass back into the Big Bad suit. “How long have you been—back?”

 

“’bout a year,” he replied. “Maybe a little more.”

 

She glared at him. “You’ve been back for that long and didn’t tell anybody?”

 

“Was with Angel,” Spike explained. “And I was a ghost for a while. Couldn’t exactly pick up a phone then.” There was a pause. “Besides, I wasn’t sure anyone would be interested in knowing.”

 

The last comment was directed at Dawn, and she knew it. The last real conversation they’d had involved her threatening to set him on fire in his sleep. It was no wonder Spike was unsure of his reception—with her at least.

 

“We would have been interested,” Dawn said, leaving it at that. “Look, why don’t you come to England with me. I’m leaving later this evening. You could probably still get a ticket.”

 

Spike shook his head regretfully. “My flight leaves from the airport here in Rome, Dawn. I’ll just—write Buffy a note or something. Maybe you could take it to her?”

 

Dawn didn’t like the sound of that, not least because Buffy would most likely kill her for not dragging Spike along. “You could get a round trip flight between here and London,” she pointed out. There was a part of her that thought it odd that Spike would have gotten a round trip ticket, rather than a one-way. She still had the idea that of Spike was the-guy-that-would-not-leave.

 

His tone was regretful. “Don’t think so, B—Dawn. You know when Buffy’s going to be back?”

 

“I think she said she was staying through January,” Dawn replied. “She said it was time she started taking more of an interest in the Council.”

 

Spike’s face fell. There was no way he could afford a round trip ticket to England on top of his other expenses. And he really didn’t like the idea of wandering around Rome for the next two weeks by himself. Cashing in the one ticket to pay his way to England was a possibility, but then he’d have to figure out whether or not he was going to stay in the mother country.

 

Knocking around the Continent for a while didn’t seem like such a bad idea, however. He could lose himself in the crowds, become one face among many. “Why don’t you stay here?” Dawn suggested, seeing the expression on his face. “I mean, you look really tired. You could catch a nap. I don’t have to leave for a while.”

 

Spike hesitated and then nodded. He hadn’t been able to sleep on the flight—too keyed up to drop off. Now that he was here and Buffy wasn’t, however, exhaustion was setting in. “That would be right nice.”

 

“You can take Buffy’s bed,” Dawn said pointing the way back to Buffy’s bedroom. “She wouldn’t mind. I’ll wake you up before I have to leave.”

 

He set his duffel on the floor, feeling awkward and ill at ease. Buffy’s scent still hung in the air, and it just made his chest ache. “Spike?” Turning to look at her, he was shocked when she gave him a quick, hard hug. “I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

 

Slowly, feeling every year that lay on him, Spike pulled off his boots and belt, and laid his duster over a chair. He would sleep and hopefully not dream. There would be time enough to decide his next move when he woke.

 

~~~~~

 

Dawn waited until she was certain Spike was asleep before sneaking quietly into Buffy’s room and snagging the duffel. She paused for just a moment to watch him, frowning slightly when she saw his chest rising and falling. The summer that Buffy had been—gone, Dawn had noticed that Spike still breathed, a habit he’d kept from his days as a human.

 

But then he’d never breathed while he was sleeping, when he was completely still.

 

Ignoring the little niggling voice in the back of her head, telling herself that what she was thinking was absolutely impossible, Dawn grabbed his bag and hauled it out into the living room.

 

She stifled the small pang of guilt that she felt while rifling through his things, convincing herself that it was for a good cause. Spike looked completely done in, and Dawn wanted to know what was going on without having to ask him about it. Once she would have blurted out her question without thinking; now there was a distance that separated them that seemed impassable.

 

Another pair of black jeans, a couple of black t-shirts, a few pairs of socks, and a few books were all that comprised the contents of the bag. Dawn felt a flash of—something. It was impossible to name the emotion, but it had everything to do with the fact that Spike had lived for over a century and had nothing more to his name than this meager store.

 

Her tongue poking out from between her lips just slightly, Dawn felt for the tear she was certain was there in the lining and was not disappointed. Under the lining was a slim spiral-bound notebook, like the kind she had used in school, and a roll of bills.

 

Two hundred dollars American was all there was. That and Spike’s return ticket to LAX. Dawn thought again about his drawn air and looked at the money thoughtfully.

 

Giving the bedroom door a slightly nervous glance, she flipped through the notebook, realizing almost immediately that it was a journal. Her lips tightened as she read the last few entries and she closed it with a snap, tucking it all back into the bag where she’d found it.

 

Dawn dropped the duffel in the bedroom where Spike had left it and went to make a phone call.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike woke slowly for the first time in months. Normally he came out of slumber abruptly, with great gasping breaths that seemed to suggest he’d nearly stopped breathing in his sleep out of habit.

 

For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, but the knowledge gradually came along with the astonishing wave of grief. Spike closed his eyes, remembering a moment in time, before they went haring off to England together, trying to save Fred. After he’d beaten Angel to the Cup of Perpetual Torment.

 

He had to wonder now if there hadn’t been something besides Mountain Dew in that cup after all.

 

The bigger vampire had presented him with a portfolio, full of documentation that proclaimed him a real person. It was silly; Spike had never needed proper ID to get anywhere in his unlife—but Angel had had this look on his face, as though he was prepared for Spike to spit in his face.

 

Spike never did anything his grandsire expected if he could help it, unless it was irritating Angel. That he wouldn’t pass up for anything.

 

_“You might need these,” Angel explained, after it looked as though Spike was actually going to accept the gift._

_“Right,” Spike drawled. “You preparing to get me out of your hair, Peaches?”_

_Angel smiled sourly. “The thought crossed my mind. Mostly, however, I just want the police to know who they’ve got next time you pull a stupid stunt.”_

_“That’s the fun of pulling stupid stunts,” Spike smirked. “Making sure you don’t get caught at it.”_

 

It had been one of the few cordial conversations they’d had.

 

Spike remembered it now with a sorrow just beginning to be gentled by time. He’d never expected to feel sorry that Angel was dead. His grandsire had been a constant presence, a backdrop over the last hundred and twenty years of his existence. Without Angel, the landscape felt strangely empty. Without the others, too, he supposed. Spike had been as close to them as he had been to the Scoobies, though he hadn’t known them for the same length of time.

 

With Buffy’s gang, there had always been the sense that he didn’t belong, that they were waiting for him to put one foot wrong. With Angel’s crew, he’d found a place at the end, a place that he could be proud of. It had made losing them that much more difficult.

 

Rising with a sigh, Spike scrubbed a hand over his face. His stomach was rumbling its displeasure, and he longingly remembered the days when food was plentiful—all he’d had to do was pluck a ripe young thing off the street and drain her dry. Not that he’d done that in a long while, but the option had been there as it wasn’t now.

 

He pulled on his boots and threaded his belt back through the loops, just as a knock came on the door. “Spike? You awake?”

 

“Be out in a mo,” he called, stopping to grab his bag before he left the bedroom. It was a mark of his sleep-befuddled state that Spike didn’t notice that his bag had been moved.

 

Dawn smiled at him as he came out into the living room, the expression faltering a bit when she watched him stumble. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just tired still.”

 

She was still watching him with those eyes that had always seen more than anyone had given her credit for. Spike had known—had known that she was a devious little chit, and had loved her for it. Loved her for it still, actually, even though the distance between them was as wide as the Atlantic. “Are you hungry? We’ve got leftovers. I was going to throw them away before I left, but there’s no point if someone is going to eat them.”

 

Spike was starving; he was also watching her out of wary blue eyes, wondering if she knew. Wondering if he heard the challenge in her tone rightly. “I could eat.” He waited for her to say something about not having any blood in the apartment, but she simply stood there and watched him.

 

It was a stalemate, and he was the one who broke first, too hungry and too tired to care for once. “I’m starving, N—Dawn. But you already know that.” And then he knew, remembered that his bag had been moved slightly, and Spike cursed himself for a fool for not sleeping with it under his head as was his habit. “You went through my things.” The hot flush of anger felt good.

 

Dawn shrugged. “It was sitting right there.”

 

“It was in my—her room,” he replied. “That was rude.”

 

“So was coming back from the dead and not letting anybody know.”

 

“How could you not have known?” Spike demanded angrily. “Andrew couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it!”

 

“Andrew knew?” Dawn asked, her eyes going wide and hurt. “How did Andrew of all people know?”

 

Spike deflated, realizing that Andrew, amazingly enough, had actually managed to keep a secret. He should have eaten the boy when he’d had the chance. Up till now, he’d figured Andrew had long before spilled the beans, and since Buffy hadn’t tried to contact him, she didn’t want to see him.

 

Buffy was definitely going to kick his ass over this one.

 

“Saw me when he was in L.A. for that crazy Slayer,” Spike said, sighing. “And again when Angel and me were in Rome a while back.”

 

“You were in Rome?” Dawn repeated, the hurt look on her face changing into a glare. “Spike!”

 

“Buffy was with the Immortal,” he said, just a bit of a snarl in his tone. He sounded like the old Spike in that moment, the one who would cheerfully threaten her life when Dawn pulled something stupid.

 

Dawn softened slightly, realizing both that it must have hurt him to know Buffy was with someone else and that he’d had no reason to visit her. Not when they’d never truly repaired their relationship. “Buffy’s going to kill you.”

 

“Well, it should be pretty easy for her now,” Spike said sourly.

 

Dawn ignored that comment, starting to gather things out of the fridge. “I got you a ticket,” she said, starting to dish up. “We’re leaving in a couple hours.”

 

“Dawn—”

 

She gave him a look. “Do you really think Buffy wouldn’t immediately return all my Christmas presents if I brought her a note from you, without bringing you too?”

 

He was silent, not knowing quite how to answer that question. Dawn put the plate of pasta down in front of him. “Dig in.”

 

The fork was in his hand before the words had left her mouth. She watched him as he ate ravenously, waiting for the right moment to ask the question. “So. How did it happen?”

 

Spike shot her a sour look. “Figured you already knew.”

 

“I don’t know what a Shanshu is.”

 

“Tough.” He gave her a smug look. It took years off his appearance. “Guess you’ll just have to wait to hear the story then.”

 

“Spike!” Dawn protested. “I got you a ticket. You owe me.”

 

“I didn’t ask for anything,” he replied stiffly.

 

Dawn sighed and then gave him a considering look. “We’re flying first class. You’re going to need something else to wear.”

 

“Don’t have anything else to wear,” Spike replied. “As you probably already know. Guess you’ll just have to cancel that bloody ticket.” He had no clue why he was being difficult about this. The whole point of coming to Rome had been to see Buffy. It made no sense to pass up a free ticket to England.

 

The truth was that he didn’t know if he really wanted to see Buffy again. It had been one thing to go on a wild goose chase after that head in Rome, with Angel as part of the chase and the Immortal as one of the quarry. The goal then had been to make certain that neither Angel nor the Immortal won.

 

Spike had no reason to allow Angel to win, not after he’d beaten him so soundly just a short time before for the Cup of Perpetual Torment, a trophy he hadn’t even wanted.

 

In the end, neither vampire had retired with the prize, and Spike couldn’t have said if he was disappointed or not. For the first time in years his existence wasn’t defined by the Slayer, and he was beginning to enjoy that freedom. There was also the doubt that Buffy had been telling the truth at the end. Maybe if he’d gone running to her as soon as he’d become solid it wouldn’t have taken over so completely, but now…

 

Now, Spike had to wonder what Buffy would think when she saw him, if she wouldn’t be just a little sorry that she’d said what she did at the end. He didn’t want to see that look on her face. Didn’t want to hear her explanation that she loved him, but just as a friend. Spike didn’t think he could bear that.

 

Dawn had obviously decided to ignore his bad mood and worse manners, however, as she was looking at him speculatively. “I think we could probably find something for you to wear.”

 

Spike shrugged, the fight suddenly going out of him. He was here. Why not see it through to the bitter end? Maybe then he’d be able to move on with his life. “Right then,” he said aloud.

 

Much to Spike’s displeasure, the only jacket that had fit was Andrew’s tweed one that he’d left behind, having apparently outgrown his uber-Watcher phase. Dawn looked him over with a critical eye, taking in the black t-shirt and jeans paired with the tweed jacket. “You look like some kind of eccentric professor.”

 

Spike glared at her. “Thanks.” The jacket wasn’t a bad fit, since it had hung on Andrew. Nevertheless, the last time Spike had worn tweed had been in Sunnydale, when Willow had done her _tabula rasa_ spell. It brought back bad memories.

 

“It’s just for the flight,” Dawn said philosophically. “You can throw the jacket in the trash after we land for all I care.”

 

He shrugged his shoulders, fiddled with the hem. “Doesn’t matter.” Anger was a friend these days, as it let him feel something, but it didn’t last. It came and went in fits and starts that were painful for their brevity.

 

“Spike—” Dawn began, and then stopped, suddenly uncertain. She had loved him once—so much. There were no words. So instead she gave into the urge to hug him, touching him as she had longed to do so many times. She felt him stiffen in her arms, and then he returned her embrace slowly, tentatively. “I hated that we never got to talk before—”

 

“Thought you’d be mad at me forever,” he murmured. “You had good reason.”

 

“I didn’t know the whole story,” Dawn replied. “I just—I was as mad that you’d left me as I was about what happened with Buffy. You just left without a word, and then Xander told me…” She trailed off, remembering what Xander had told her. Remembering the vicious way he’d spilled Buffy’s secret. It wasn’t something you told a person’s someone else story, and certainly not in that way, not in revenge; Dawn understood that now. There were a lot of things she understood now.

 

Spike released the girl reluctantly when she started to pull away. It had been so long since he’d had any kind of human contact, any kind of touch. He’d been hungrier for it than he knew, in more ways than one. “Guess we should get going.”


	2. Peace

The flight from Rome to London wasn’t a long one, but Spike was out almost as soon as he sat down. Dawn had to wonder how much sleep he’d been getting in the past few months. She was still wildly curious about how exactly Spike had become human. It involved something called a Shanshu, but his journal hadn’t been any more specific than that.

 

Dawn glanced over at him. In spite of the rather dorky tweed jacket, she had seen some of the flight attendants giving him appreciative glasses. His face was relaxed in sleep and somehow younger. Dawn personally thought that Buffy’s timing was impeccable. She’d gotten rid of the boyfriend just in time for Spike’s return—well, in time for Spike’s arrival at least.

 

Dawn read a book for the duration of the flight, looking over at Spike every few minutes to assure herself that he was real and sitting right beside her. The earlier phone call had been made to Giles, and she’d told him that unless he wanted to ruin what relationship he and Buffy had managed to salvage, he could purchase another first class ticket on her flight. Now she had Spike in the seat next to her.

 

She had her own suspicions regarding Giles knowing about Spike’s return, especially since Andrew had known.

 

It was perhaps a mark of Giles’ progress that he hadn’t even questioned it, but had simply told her it would be taken care of. On the other hand, it might have had something to do with Dawn’s mentioning that Spike was human now. She knew exactly what to say to get the chief Watcher’s attention, much as her sister did.

 

Rome had been an interesting experience, in Dawn’s mind. She’d gone to school, ridden on the backs of motorbikes with boys, and done the typical teenage things. It hadn’t much mattered that Buffy wasn’t paying her a lot of attention, since Buffy had been ignoring her sister for years now.

 

Oddly enough, it had been Rome that made Dawn miss Spike. Every time she brought home an art project that Buffy didn’t bother to look at, every time she came home in the early hours of the morning and Buffy hadn’t noticed she was gone…she thought about that summer with Spike. He had looked after her, wanted to know where she was going, who she was going to be with.

 

Regret over lost opportunities was the last painful lesson that Sunnydale had taught her.

 

Dawn knew how lucky she was to have the chance to repair her relationship with Spike. So often, lost opportunities are never regained.

 

The plane set down with a bump, and still Spike didn’t stir. Dawn reached over and shook his arm. “Hey, Spike. We’re here.”

 

He woke with a start, the shadows of dreams in his blue eyes. “Nibblet? Wha—” Spike shook his head groggily. “Dawn. Sorry. Didn’t mean—”

 

“You were tired,” she replied. “And you can call me whatever you want to. It’s really okay.”

 

Spike stared at her. It wasn’t okay. She had grown up somewhere along the way and he’d missed it all. But he did appreciate the gesture. “Yeah, thanks. Is, uh, someone meeting us?”

 

Dawn shook her head. “I don’t think so. At least, I told Giles that we’d take a taxi.”

 

“Was he the one that paid for the ticket?”

 

“Yeah.” She was quiet. “Giles kinda fell apart after everything happened, you know? I don’t think any of us really thought about the fact that he’d lost a lot of friends and even some family when the First took out the Council. He just wanted to keep us safe, and get the job done, and he was so focused on that…”

 

As she trailed off, Spike nodded. “No hard feelings,” he said softly. “Not really. Rupert just wanted to protect Buffy, and he didn’t think I was worthy of her. He’d be right on that count, at least.”

 

“Yeah, but if he’d killed you, the whole world would have gone up in flames,” Dawn said wryly. “And you know how much Giles loves to admit he was wrong.”

 

Spike grinned. “I can imagine.” His face fell. “Does Buffy—”

 

“Giles said he’d wait till you got into town.”

 

“Great,” Spike grumbled. “Bit?”

 

That one word was a question, and Spike suddenly sounded terribly vulnerable. “Yeah?”

 

“Is she—I mean, did Buffy—would she really want to see me again?”

 

“She missed you, Spike,” Dawn replied quietly. “You do the math.”

 

~~~~~

                                                                          

Giles sent a car for them, which surprised Spike, even though the man had bought his plane ticket. Through the windows of the car, Spike could see the lights and evergreens that marked the nearing holiday. It would be Christmas soon, and he’d nearly forgotten.

 

The holidays meant something to him now; Thanksgiving had been particularly painful. Of course, he was British, and so it shouldn’t have meant anything at all, but he’d seen the advertisements that talked about family. He’d seen men and women shopping, filling carts to the brim with enough food to feed a crowd, while he debated on shoplifting enough to fill his belly for the night.

 

It had brought back memories of that Thanksgiving with the Scoobies, watching them eat while he’d been starving. Memories of haunting the halls of Wolfram & Hart, solid and not. Although he’d been on the outside of both groups, he’d fought his way into them. Both were gone now, or largely disbanded.

 

Spike wasn’t sure he could bear to stay for Christmas, not if he was going to feel as though he was the outsider again. If it was going to be like that, he’d rather go hide in a bottle until after the New Year, lose himself in his memories.

 

He wasn’t in the mood to be making nice or pretending to be happy.

 

“Where’s this place we’re going to, then?” Spike asked idly.

 

Dawn was still gazing out the window. Even after over a year abroad, she’d never grown tired of the sights and sounds that were so different than America. “One of the Council’s properties,” she replied. “It’s not very big, but Giles is having another place built near Bath, I think. It’s supposed to be pretty cool. Buffy was talking about maybe settling down there for a while.”

 

Spike nodded absently. Someone who didn’t know him as well as Dawn did might have missed the ticking muscle in his jaw, or the line of tension across his shoulders. He’d discarded the tweed and slipped back into the duster as soon as they’d landed, and he looked like Spike again. Like the vampire she’d known. It was hard to tell how much he’d changed.

 

Then the car was pulling up in front of a row of rather nice homes, and the driver was opening the door for the both of them, and Spike suddenly felt the need to run. It was all moving too fast. He’d had plans for seeing Buffy in Rome, and giving her the news. Then she would look at him with those great big eyes of hers and tell him—regretfully, of course—that she hadn’t meant those last words she’d spoken to him. And then he would take himself off and get on with the business of living his life.

 

Spike would move on. Other people did it all the time, so a guy who’d survived a few apocalypses should be able to do the same.

 

As though sensing his desire to bolt, Dawn grabbed his arm. “Come on. Everybody will be waiting.”

 

It was easier to let Dawn drag him along. Easier to tell himself that he’d set the ball rolling, and now he was just going to follow it to its end. Spike watched as Dawn rang the bell, hanging onto him with her other hand the whole time. He had to admit he was a bit disappointed when it was Giles that opened the door.

 

“Dawn.” Giles’ greeting for the girl was warm, and although he looked more worn to Spike’s sharp eye, there was a strength there that had replaced the brittleness of that last year.

 

Giles looked at Spike from the other side of the doorway. “Won’t you both come in?”

 

Dawn entered, already beginning her excited chatter. In one of those lightning-fast transitions that characterize teens, she’d gone from mature young woman to excited girl in the space of a few seconds. Spike was silent as Giles shut the door and then turned to him. “You look as though you could use a drink.”

 

Some of the tension left his shoulders and Spike nodded his thanks. “Be nice. Buffy here?”

 

“She went out with a few of the Slayers along with Willow,” Giles said briefly. “She said she’d see Dawn when she got back tonight or perhaps tomorrow morning.”

 

“She know about me?” Spike asked, following Giles into the library. Dawn, sensing the tension, had grabbed her bag and announced her desire to get cleaned up.

 

Giles shook his head. “Not as of yet. She left earlier today, before Dawn called.”

 

“Ah.” Spike tossed back the drink Giles handed him in one smooth motion.

 

“We heard about Wolfram & Hart’s downfall,” Giles said quietly. “Buffy knows as well, though it wasn’t something we discussed.”

 

Spike nodded. “What did you hear?”

 

“That the Senior Partners had been mysteriously blocked from this dimension. The word from the coven was that the Powers were rather upset by the demon army that had appeared in Los Angeles and had taken steps to prevent something like that from happening in the future.” Giles’ tone was flat, but Spike could hear the curiosity hidden between the lines.

 

“Was Angel’s doing.” Spike let Giles refill his glass, and he tossed that one back as well. He still had to drink quite a bit in order to feel any effect, though he didn’t know whether it was because of long practice or a strong constitution. “He came up with the plan, and like good soldiers we carried it out.”

 

Giles’ expression was pained. “Then Angel hadn’t gone evil.”

 

“No.” Spike smiled reflectively. “Though we all thought so towards the end. He had to make it look good. ‘Course, acting evil wasn’t that hard for him.”

 

The Watcher heard the verb tense and nodded. “We had wondered. Who survived?”

 

“Me.”

 

There was a long pause. “I see. Was that when—”

 

“Yeah.” Spike sat down heavily, the memories weighing on him. “Not a proper human, though. More like a vampire without the vulnerabilities.”

 

“Then you still drink blood.”

 

“No.”

 

Giles had never known Spike to be short on words before. If anything, the vampire had been an annoying windbag, not shutting up for anything. “Spike—”

 

“Save it,” the other man said shortly. “You were doing the best you could. We all were. It’s all we can do most of the time, just muddle through as best we can.”

 

“You’re right.” Giles started to laugh. “Good Lord, you’re right. I never thought I’d say those words to you of all people.”

 

Spike shrugged. “Things change.”

 

“I take it you came to tell Buffy about Angel and the others,” Giles said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a full account myself. As I said, we have reports, but nothing very solid.” Giles laughed again, though this time the sound was full of more humor than bitterness. “You do realize that you’ve managed to turn the world on its head twice in as many years.”

 

Spike shook his head sadly. “I didn’t do so much.”

 

The other man didn’t argue, deciding that it wasn’t really the time for that. “I’m afraid all the guest rooms are full,” he said with something like real regret in his voice. “You’re welcome to the couch, however.”

 

“Couch is fine,” Spike replied.

 

The silence lay heavy between them. Spike knew they’d most likely never be friends—too much history lay between them for that. He wondered if Giles realized how much respect he had for him, that he might have liked to be friends at one point.

 

Spike suddenly wondered what might have happened if he had chosen differently when the Watcher had extended the hand of friendship not long after he’d been chipped. If he had known then what he knew now—well, hindsight was always 20/20.

 

“For whatever it’s worth,” Giles said softly, “I am glad you lived to tell the tale, Spike. It seems as though you might have something to offer the world.”

 

Spike had no idea what to say to that.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy let herself into Giles’ house with the key he’d given her. Willow had decided to go back with one of the witches that had come along, and the Slayer was feeling slightly jealous. Oh, she’d done the right thing by losing the latest boyfriend, but she was already missing the sex.

 

Not that Willow was going to be getting any tonight, but Buffy had seen the looks she and the (male) witch had shared. It was apparent that Willow was giving serious thought to redefining her sexuality from gay to bi.

 

There was a light still burning in the study, and the Slayer decided to see if Giles was still awake, and if he was, to make sure that Dawn had gotten in all right.

 

“Giles? Have you—” She broke off with a gasp. What she was seeing made no sense. It wasn’t like she hadn’t dreamed of something like this, but she wouldn’t have imagined Spike sitting in Giles’ study in London, reading a book.

 

“Buffy.” Spike sounded just as startled as she probably looked, although he knew she was alive. He didn’t have any reason to be startled.

 

“What—How did you get here?”

 

Spike had to smile at the fact that Buffy’s question was the exact same one as her sister’s. He gave her the same answer too. “Flew.”

 

She shook her head, obviously not amused. “I mean, how are you alive? I watched you—”

 

“Didn’t quite take,” Spike said, still striving for a little humor. “The amulet was fishy after all, seems like.”

 

“How long have you been back?”

 

She was still standing on the opposite side of the room, staring at him, although he’d risen to his feet at her entrance. Spike was fairly sure he didn’t want to tell her how long he’d been not-dusty, as it might involve an ass-kicking for him, but he didn’t want to lie either. “A while. Was transparent for a bit, so I couldn’t call.”

 

“How long have you been solid then?”

 

“A year.”

 

It hurt more than anything else, as it told Buffy that Spike really hadn’t believed her in those last moments before his immolation. Up until this moment she could make believe that he had, that Spike just said what he did to make her run. Now, she knew.

 

Buffy had said it too late.

 

Even as the date of the last battle had careened toward them, Buffy had felt the time slipping away. She had understood, however dimly, that the timing of her statement had to be right. That telling Spike she loved him at the last minute wouldn’t work because he wouldn’t believe her. Spike would think, and perhaps rightly so, that a last-minute declaration would have nothing to do with her feelings and everything to do with the budding friendship that had sprung up between them.

 

What Spike didn’t know was that friendship was threatening to give way to something completely different in Buffy’s heart, with a little time.

 

And then they’d had no time at all.

 

In those last fleeting moments in the Hellmouth, watching Spike’s soul blaze out of him in a great and glorious stream of light, Buffy’s feelings for him had blossomed. She’d realized that she loved him, and then he had died.

 

So Buffy knew that it was her own fault that Spike was watching her warily, expecting anger over his long silence. Her own fault, because she’d never expected him to dust back then.

 

“Did anyone else know you were back?” she asked.

 

“Angel and his lot,” Spike replied, wondering if he should feel relief that she wasn’t angry. “And Andrew.”

 

Anger flared. “Andrew knew?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Spike hesitated, and then shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Saw him when he came for that crazy Slayer, and later when Angel and me were in Rome.”

 

“You were in Rome?” Buffy seemed only to be able to parrot him, and she shook her head, trying to clear it. “You were in Rome and you didn’t say anything.”

 

“Had a job to do, and you were out. With the Immortal.”

 

“Oh.” Buffy frowned, remembering. Spike had a point. She’d usually been out all night with the Immortal, so it would have been difficult to catch her. Still, Andrew had known. “You could have stayed, or left a note or something,” she pointed out relentlessly. Now that anger had reared its ugly head, Buffy didn’t want to let it go.

 

“We didn’t have much time. Besides, the boy said you’d moved on,” Spike replied. “Said we should do the same.”

 

Buffy wasn’t certain, but she thought she felt relief at what Spike wasn’t saying: that _he_ had moved on. “I’m going to kill Andrew,” she stated flatly. “He had no right to tell you anything at all. It’s not like I ever confided in him.”

 

“Then what the bloody hell was the Immortal?” Spike demanded, and now there was anger in his tone.

 

“Good sex,” Buffy replied bluntly. “And it was fun for a while.”

 

“A while?” Spike queried, his scarred eyebrow rising.

 

Buffy shrugged. “He cheated on me. I don’t care how casual a relationship is, guys don’t cheat on me.”

 

Spike wanted to tell her that any man would be a fool for cheating on her. He wanted, yet again, to swear his allegiance. It frightened him—this inability to move on. Even Angel, for all his love for the Slayer, had managed to fall in love with someone else. Spike had understood when they made the trip to Rome that Angel was in love with the idea of Buffy, and not so much with the real person.

 

He, on the other hand, loved the girl and the Slayer. It seemed to be his curse, as much as his continued existence was.

 

“So this other one that the Bit said you just got rid of?” he asked, wanting to postpone telling his story.

 

Buffy shrugged. “He was a guy. We had fun.” She didn’t say that she’d had several boyfriends to try and relieve the sting of losing Spike. It hadn’t worked, but it was the only thing she’d known to try.

 

It had always been that way; Buffy lost one boyfriend and quickly gained another. It had only been recently that she’d truly realized that maybe that wasn’t the best way to do things, and now Spike was here. Except, he wasn’t new, but rather something old.

 

Spike nodded, not saying anything, and Buffy suddenly put two and two together. Angel had known, and Spike was here, looking very much like the messenger who believes he’ll be shot for the news he bears. “Why did you come now, Spike?” she asked, and her tone was gentle.

 

He couldn’t meet her eyes. This was the whole reason he’d come, and Spike found that the words were choking him. “You know about Wolfram & Hart?”

 

“Yeah. Angel—” Buffy knew, but she could say it.

 

“Dusted,” Spike said. “They’re all gone now.” The details escaped him, defied words. Everything he’d come to say began and ended with one quiet sentence.

 

There was pain in his eyes, and Buffy found herself going to him, wrapping her arms around him, both to give comfort and to assure herself that he was real. After a moment, Spike returned her embrace. They stood like that, in silence, and time seemed to slip backwards until they were alone in an empty house, with Spike declaring his love with words that made her heart ache.

 

He’d been strong for her that night; she hadn’t had the chance to return the favor until now. “Where are you sleeping?”

 

“Here, on the couch.” Spike’s words were muffled by her hair. “Full house, and Rupert wasn’t expecting me.”

 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Buffy said, releasing him only to grab his hand and tug him towards the stairs.

 

Resisting her pull, Spike stayed where he was. “Buffy, I don’t think—”

 

“It’s a big bed, Spike,” Buffy said, sensing his reasons for hesitating. “I think—I think maybe tonight you need me.”

 

A flash of wonder crossed his face that lifted the sadness. “I—yeah, actually. Could do with a real bed tonight.”

 

He followed her up the stairs to the second floor bedroom Giles had called hers. “I just need to change.”

 

Spike stopped outside the door. “Oh, right. I’ll just, uh, wait.”

 

Buffy smiled. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You can wait inside.”

 

The look on Spike’s face was priceless. “Are you sure?”

 

“I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.” She waited until he followed her inside, and then Buffy shut the door behind him. “Do you want to get your bag?”

 

Spike shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “Nothing in there I need. Never was big on the pajamas, luv.”

 

He had called her “luv” before, of course. But after a year and a half of not hearing it, the single word sent shivers right down her spine. Where once it would have made her angry, now it only served to remind her how much she’d missed him.

 

No matter how angry she was supposed to be at Spike right now for not telling her about his being alive sooner.

 

“I know.” Two little words to acknowledge everything that had been between them. “I could probably find something…”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Spike said with a smile that was almost sheepish.

 

She smiled in return. “I want you to be comfortable.”

 

Spike didn’t tell her that there was little chance of that when her very nearness made his skin tingle. “I came to tell you—”

 

“It’s okay, Spike.” Buffy paused, let herself feel the grief that threatened. “I think I knew, deep down. When Giles told us about Wolfram & Hart, and then I didn’t hear from Angel, I knew.” She sighed. “If I had known you were involved, I would have made more of an effort to find out what happened.” Buffy kept her back to him as she changed. “How are you?”

 

“Breathing, actually.”

 

That caused her to turn around sharply, half-dressed as she was. “Excuse me?”

 

“Not a vampire anymore, Buffy,” Spike said, surprised she hadn’t picked up on it already, but it wasn’t really something one expected to happen after all. “Not a human either, but I’m breathing.”

 

Buffy tugged her shirt over her head and came to stand closer, putting a wary hand on his chest, feeling the thump of his heart under her hand. “Human?”

 

“Got all the abilities of a vampire and none of the vulnerabilities.” Spike, for all his silence earlier, felt the sudden need to tell Buffy everything. “There was this prophecy about a souled vampire. Shanshu prophecy. Said this vampire would ‘live till he died’ after he saved the bloody world.” Spike shook his head. “I needled Angel, told him it could be me as well as him, but it was always supposed to be his thing. He was the one who wanted this.”

 

“And what?” Buffy asked. “You got it?”

 

“By default, I think.” Spike laughed, but there was no humor in the tone. “I hated him, Buffy. He always got everything I wanted, and now—”

 

“You got what he wanted,” Buffy said, finishing for him. She took his hand and tugged him on the bed beside her.

 

“Something like that,” Spike agreed. “Was Angel’s idea to take out the top blokes. We each had an assignment. Wesley was killed finishing his, Charlie-boy close to. Don’t know what happened to Lorne. Illyria showed up in time for the fight.” Now that he’d started talking, it didn’t seem as though he could stop. “There was this horde—whole bloody army they sent after us, complete with dragon.”

 

“A dragon?” Buffy could help but asking.

 

He smiled, shook his head. “Great, sodding dragon. Angel had to be the one to kill it, of course. Next thing I knew, he had killed it, but it took him out with its bloody dying breath. It was chaos in that alley, and I dunno. Must have got brained with something. Next thing I know, I’m waking up, staring into Charlie’s eyes, Illyria was gone, and I’m breathing. And I haven’t been able to stop since.”

 

Buffy kept her arm around his shoulders, waiting for what he would say next. “I miss him. Isn’t that a kicker? I bloody well hated his guts, and I miss him.”

 

“He was family,” Buffy said simply. She would deal with her own quiet grief later. Now, however, she urged him to take off his coat and boots, pushed him to lie down under the covers. Held him as she’d asked him to hold her so long ago, her heart quiet with the knowledge that he was in her arms again.


	3. Joy

Spike felt fingers running through his hair, and he couldn’t quite figure it out. He was comfortable and warm and he really didn’t want to move lest it turn out to be a dream. “I know you’re awake.”

 

His eyes blinked open, and Spike saw Buffy smiling down at him. “Buffy?”

 

“That would be me. How are you?”

 

It took him a moment to process that question. No one had asked him how he was in so long, he’d forgotten the correct response. “Good.” Spike let that sink in for a moment before smiling at her. “I’m good,” he repeated, this time with more conviction.

 

“I’m glad,” Buffy replied. She’d been awake for a while, but hadn’t wanted to leave him. It was enough just to watch Spike sleep, his head resting trustingly on her shoulder. Whatever leftover anger she might have felt was eclipsed by thankfulness that he was alive. Literally alive.

 

Some of the pleasure left Spike’s eyes as he remembered why he was in London with her in the first place. “I should—”

 

“What, Spike?” Buffy asked, tightening her grip as she felt the tension in him. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Because of Angel?” she sounded incredulous, as well she might. It wasn’t precisely the reunion she’d been hoping for. If she’d thought to hope at all.

 

“Buffy—”

 

“Because if you’re feeling survivor’s guilt, we all have it, Spike.” She kept a hand on his arm, unwilling to let him go. Buffy was half-afraid that he’d disappear if she let him out of her sight. “Anya didn’t make it through the final battle either. Xander could hardly stand it, so he went to Africa. I went to Rome because I needed to forget for a while that you sacrificed yourself for me, and to forget all those Slayers who didn’t make it out.”

 

When Spike looked away, Buffy gave him a little shake. “Did you really think you could walk back into my life, drop this news, and then walk out again?”

 

“Buffy—”

 

“Well?”

 

“Would you bloody well let me answer?” Spike demanded, pulling away from her and getting out of bed. “Dammit, Slayer! What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

 

“Stay, you idiot! You died, and now you’re back, and you’re just going to leave again?” She stared at him, anger flushing her cheeks.

 

Spike spun away, suddenly furious, wanting nothing more than to grab his things and run out of the house, away from all of this. Was it worth it to stay? He’d believed it was once, but now he wasn’t so sure. It had all spiraled out of his control so quickly. “Why should I stay, Buffy? Other than I just got back here. Give me one good reason.”

 

Buffy knew that there were only three words that could keep him there with her, even though she hated having to repeat herself. “Because what I said to you in the Hellmouth was the absolute truth.”

 

There was no movement. Time itself might have stopped for all Spike knew. “Slayer—”

 

“I know you didn’t believe me,” Buffy said stolidly. “Hell, you don’t really have a reason to believe me right now. But at least stay for Christmas, Spike. No one should be alone for the holidays, and people here know you. Most of us even like you.”

 

He actually laughed a little bit at that, his shoulders slumping. “Through Christmas then, pet.”

 

“And New Years,” Buffy said, suddenly anxious to negotiate for more time.

 

Spike turned back to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “And if I say yes, you’ll just point out that your birthday’s just after the New Year and I should stay for that too.”

 

Buffy shook her head. “My birthdays are always disastrous. I’d never ask you to stay for that.”

 

“Through New Years,” Spike agreed, thinking it might be nice to stay in one place for a while. “After that, we’ll see.”

 

The Slayer smiled a little. Spike might not be certain, but Buffy had plans enough for the both of them.

 

~~~~~

 

The first stage in her plans included checking up on Dawn and holding a quick, whispered conversation. The Summers sisters hadn’t connected on much for a very long while, but there was one thing that they could agree on right now, and that was Spike. Joyce had passed along her maternal instinct to both girls, and it was now focused solely on Spike.

 

Who, if he’d known, probably would have run the other direction.

 

“Are you going to be nice?” Dawn asked.

 

Buffy glared at her sister. “Of course I’m going to be nice. Why wouldn’t I be nice?”

 

“Because he didn’t tell you he was back,” Dawn replied, sounding superior, as though she knew the drill better than Buffy. “I mean, if you’re angry at him—”

 

“I’m not angry at him,” Buffy replied, and then huffed. “Well, maybe a little, but I get it. It’s not like he…” She trailed off, paused. “Besides, I think he’s a little fragile right now. When he’s back to normal, then I’ll kick his ass.”

 

Dawn smiled. That was definitely more like the Buffy she knew. “Where is Spike?”

 

“Taking a shower. When he comes down, I want you to keep him busy and make sure he eats,” Buffy directed. “I need to talk to Giles.”

 

The younger Summers smiled. “You’re going to have it out with him?”

 

“Something like that,” Buffy replied grimly. “I can’t believe he didn’t know Spike was back.”

 

“Buffy?” Dawn called as her sister started to walk away. “Spike is kind of short on clothes, you know.”

 

Buffy’s answering smile was nothing short of smug. “I know. We’re going to go shopping.”

 

Giles was in his study, where Buffy thought he might be. She stood in the doorway watching him for a long moment, trying to figure out what she wanted to say, hating that they had to have this conversation again.

 

It had taken nearly a year to even make overtures of reconciliation. Ever since her Watcher had conspired with Wood to kill Spike, there had been a distance between them. Giles’ betrayal over the Cruciamentum hadn’t hurt quite as badly as his attempted murder on Spike had, and being kicked out of her own house shortly afterwards hadn’t helped matters any.

 

After a year, when the pain of having lost Spike was fading a bit, Buffy had managed to call Giles just to chat. One phone call had led to another and another, until she’d finally made the decision to come to England and work with the Council more intensively. Buffy had been feeling the need to be useful again, having discovered that all play and no work made the Slayer very bored.

 

Eighteen months of playing had caused her to lose sight of a lot of things though: friends, family, responsibility. Buffy hadn’t a clue as to how to reconnect with Dawn. Her friends were easier; they had all drifted apart before. Like a lot of good friendships, it was easy to reconnect.

 

This responsibility thing with Giles though—this was different.

 

“Good morning, Buffy.” Giles turned in his chair, startling her out of her thoughts. “I trust you slept well.”

 

“Yeah, I did, thanks,” she replied.

 

“And Spike?”

 

“Like a baby,” Buffy said, tacitly acknowledging that they’d shared a bed.

 

Giles made a “hmm-ing” sound and nodded. “He spoke to you about Angel.”

 

“Yeah, he told me what happened.” Giles felt the change. It was suddenly the Slayer looking at him—not Buffy. The Slayer at her strongest, as she’d been leading the charge on Adam and on the Mayor. This was the Slayer General. The sight made him nostalgic, even though Giles had a feeling he wasn’t going to find this confrontation comfortable. “You knew Spike was back.”

 

It was a statement, not a question, and he nodded. “I did. Andrew told me.”

 

“What I can’t understand is why you didn’t tell me,” Buffy said flatly. “I mourned him, Giles.”

 

There was both pain and anger in Buffy’s voice, and it made his heart ache. At the time, Giles had been convinced that Angel had gone evil, that if Spike was with the other vampire, it could mean nothing good. “I know. I’m sorry, Buffy. I believed I was doing what was best.”

 

“Best for who?” she demanded. “Me? Spike? You? I’m so tired of people determining what’s best. If someone had told me Spike was alive, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Angel and the others would be alive right now.”

 

Giles nodded. “Maybe so, but—”

 

“Don’t,” she said flatly. “I’m going to accept that you thought you were doing what was right at the time, and that it’s in the past. But Giles, trust me when I say that if you ever keep anything like this from me again, we will be done.” Giles nodded somewhat stiffly. He understood all too well. Buffy was giving him another chance, but it was going to be his last.

 

Buffy suddenly smiled sweetly. “Oh, just to let you know. I’m taking Spike shopping this afternoon. On the Council’s dime.”

 

And Giles found himself unable to say no, as Buffy had expected.

 

~~~~~

 

It took some coaxing to get Spike to agree to come shopping. Buffy had found him plowing his way through a huge breakfast with Dawn looking on. Her little sister had gotten to be quite the cook this last year. Apparently living in Italy had inspired her.

 

Spike and Dawn were discussing the merits of a roast goose versus turkey and talking about the best way to decorate a tree. Buffy found herself rather wistful, thinking of everyone who would be missing this year. Not that she’d given much thought to Angel and his gang, but it was different—knowing that they were no longer in the world. It hurt more.

 

Still, it was nice to see this rather domestic scene between Spike and Dawn. It was homey and comfortable in a way she hadn’t felt in so long—since before her mother had died, really. There had been the one Christmas when her mom had invited Giles and the whole gang. It had been perfect. One last perfect moment before things had gone so terribly wrong.

 

She determined that there would be more moments like these. Whether Spike knew it yet or not, he was staying. He needed her, Buffy was certain of it. She just had to convince him.

 

At first, Spike flatly refused to go, even after Buffy assured him that the Council was picking up the tab. Dawn had quickly joined in, and Spike had finally capitulated. The way he gave in had Buffy thinking that it was more that he didn’t have any fight left in him than from any real desire to acquiesce.

 

If she was being completely honest with herself, Buffy had to admit to a secret desire to do a makeover on Spike. Well, on the clothes at least. There had been times during that horrible year when they were using each other so badly that she had gone over in her mind what would need to change for Spike to be her real boyfriend. While most of the items on her list were fairly serious, like changing the fact that he was a vampire, some were more frivolous. Like changing his dress habits.

 

The funny thing was, all the serious things had been taken care of at this point, either because she’d seen that they weren’t so important after all or because fate had stepped in. There were only a few lingering desires to make Spike over, and it was more vague longing than actual need.

 

Well, that and Spike really did need some new clothes. He hardly had anything at all.

 

So they went shopping, and Buffy pulled out things she thought Spike should try on, and he agreed to it for the most part. They didn’t talk much, not about anything important, at least. It was mainly about her favorite places in Rome, and what she was planning for the future.

 

By unspoken agreement, neither said anything at all about what Spike’s plans might be.

 

He was reasonably docile until about lunchtime, when he suddenly turned to look at Buffy with an unreadable expression. “What’s this about then?”

 

Buffy froze, knowing exactly what it was he was asking, and not particularly wanting to go into it. “We’re shopping because Giles is on a guilt trip. I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth if I were you.”

 

Spike didn’t really want to. He’d spent enough time scrounging that he wasn’t going to complain about free anything, but he was torn. Spike wanted to know what Buffy was doing. Was she putting him right so she could send him on his way? Was this the sort of thing a girlfriend might do?

 

Were they going somewhere in particular?

 

“Buffy—”

 

She ignored him. “Try this on,” she ordered, shoving a navy blue shirt in his arms. At the look on his face, she sighed. “Go try it on, Spike, and then we’ll go eat somewhere and talk. I don’t want to have this conversation here.”

 

He tried on the shirt, because it was easier to go along—and because he wanted to put this conversation off for as long as possible. Especially as he now knew it was imminent. It was like that night she had gone out with the principal, and he had suggested he leave. She’d refused to release him because she “wasn’t ready for him not to be there.”

 

It had been enough for Spike at the time. He hadn’t truly wanted to go anyway. Now, however, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay.

 

In short, he was infinitely weary. What Spike really wanted was just to lie down somewhere and wake up a year or two down the road. And being with Buffy was never restful, no matter how much he loved her.

 

When they left the department store to find a place to eat, there was a thread of tension between them that hadn’t been present up to that point. Spike followed Buffy into a pub, and they both slid into a booth, bags and packages piled up beside them.

 

The silence hung between them until after they’d gotten their food, and Buffy watched as Spike started to eat hungrily, chuckling to herself. “What’s so funny?” he asked around a mouthful of chips.

 

“You, eating,” Buffy replied. “I mean, you ate before, when you were—you know, but now…”

 

Spike shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “I’m hungry.”

 

“It’s fine, Spike,” she hastened to assure him. “You look like you could use a few good meals.”

 

“More’n a few,” he admitted. “Probably haven’t been eating as well as I should last few months.”

 

She smiled at him. “Well, we’ll just have to fix that.”

 

Spike’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. “Buffy—”

 

“I can’t want to help you now?” she asked,

 

“I don’t need to be fixed!” His tone was heated. “I just need—time.”

 

“Okay,” Buffy replied. “Time I can do. I can also do TLC, because you look like you might need a little of that too.”

 

Spike was now officially confused. He wanted to take what Buffy seemed to be offering, but he wasn’t at all certain what exactly that was. Not after he’d seen her kissing Angel. Not after he’d seen her with the Immortal.

 

Buffy loved him sure, but what kind of love was it really? Spike found he needed a thick sort of love, one that stuck to his ribs. He couldn’t afford anything weak. Not anymore.

 

“I don’t know what you want, luv,” Spike said hoarsely. “Can’t give you much, Buffy. Don’t have it left in me.”

 

The Slayer frowned. She didn’t want anything from him. That was the whole point. You took care of someone because you loved them, not because you wanted something from them. “I don’t want anything. It’s enough for me that you’re here.”

 

He didn’t reply, and Buffy found herself at a loss for what to say. She’d never been good with words, not the way Spike was. Sometimes she could dredge up a speech when it really mattered, but she was drawing a blank at the moment. (And her speeches often sucked in the motivational department.)

 

“What do you want?” she finally asked.

 

Spike stared at her, stunned. No one asked him that. “I want—” He stopped. Did he even know anymore? “I dunno. Haven’t given it much thought recently.”

 

She nodded. “What do you want to know, Spike? You think I want something from you, but I don’t. You don’t really seem to want to stay.”

 

Fiddling with his fork to avoid having to look directly at her, Spike muttered, “Andrew said you moved on. You were with the Immortal.”

 

“I told you that Andrew didn’t have a right to tell you anything about me,” Buffy said evenly. “I would also say that no one ‘moves on’ from what we had.” She reached across the table to grab his hand, needing contact for this. “I mourned you, Spike. I cried. I didn’t think I would ever stop being sad, and when I met the Immortal I thought that maybe that was my chance to be happy for a while.”

 

She sighed. “I don’t know. I won’t tell you that it was a mistake. I know he’s sorta on the gray end of the morality scale, but he was fun to be with and a good dancer, and I could just be Buffy with him. It was easier to be with him or someone else than it was to be the Slayer. I needed a break for a while.” Buffy felt Spike’s fingers tighten around hers. “That last year just about did me in, and a lot of that was losing you.”

 

“So you haven’t moved on.”

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “If that’s what’s bothering you, no. I didn’t move on. I told you, what we had, it stays with a person. Maybe someday I would have fallen in love again, but you’re in my heart. You always will be.” She tugged on Spike’s hand until he met her eyes. “Why didn’t you come as soon as you were back? Or as soon as you could, at least?”

 

“Was going to,” Spike confessed. “At first, I just couldn’t physically, you know. Then—I dunno, luv. I started off, and I started wondering if you were really being honest with me. Couldn’t stand to think that I’d find you again, and then you’d—” There was a long pause. “When that crazy Slayer, Dana, came along, and your lot came and grabbed her from Angel… After what she did to me, I thought for sure the boy would tell you I was back, and then you didn’t come.”

 

“What she did to you?” Buffy echoed. “Spike, I knew a little about Dana, but I was, uh, taking a break right then. I didn’t send anyone to get her. And no one told me you were back.”

 

“And if you’d known?”

 

“I would have either hauled your ass to Rome or stuck around L.A. until I convinced you to come,” she replied. “No question.”

 

“Oh.” Spike stopped to let that sink in. “I’m sorry, luv.”

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Buffy said fiercely. “Spike, I meant what I said. I want you around, whatever that might mean right now. We’ll figure it out, make it up as we go along. But I don’t want to lose you again. Even if you have to go off by yourself for a while, I’ll understand. I’ll even wait for you. I just can’t wait forever.”

 

Spike had to look away; the moisture in his eyes couldn’t be passed off as anything innocuous, like allergies. It was as though Buffy had just handed him everything he’d ever wanted on a platter, and he had no idea what to do with it. “I—I just don’t know, Buffy.”

 

“Then just rest for a while,” she replied softly. “As long as you need.” Buffy suddenly grinned. “Hey, I took some time off. It’s only fair you get to do the same. You did save the world—twice.”

 

“S’pose I did,” he replied, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “I had help though.”

 

Not letting go of his hand, Buffy said, “Tell me about it.”

 

So he did.

 

~~~~~

 

By the end of the afternoon, Spike was feeling much more relaxed. Actually, relaxed was a bit of an understatement. He couldn’t remember if he and Buffy had ever been able to do something like this—act like a couple, like friends. She teased him about his hair, which he hadn’t been able to bleach in a while. Spike made fun of her attempted usage of British slang. They drank mulled wine and ate roasted chestnuts, and at one point Spike even made a comment about wanting to stay in England for a while, a tacit agreement to stick around.

 

They went back to Giles’ and found Dawn waiting. She pounced on Spike immediately, demanding that he try some of the baked goods she’d spent the day making with Willow. Willow had been prepared for Spike’s appearance, but Spike was a little shocked when she immediately hugged him. “Spike!”

 

“Hey, Red,” Spike replied, feeling unaccountably shy. He hadn’t been certain of Buffy’s friends’ reactions to his reappearance, but Willow’s excitement was encouraging.

 

She pulled back to look at him from arm’s length. “You look good,” Willow said finally. “I mean, you look like you could eat about a dozen cookies, but you look great for a dead guy.”

 

“Not dead anymore,” Spike said with a smile.

 

“So I hear,” Willow replied with a smile of her own, which eventually faded. “Dawn said—I mean, Fred and Wesley…” The witch trailed off.

 

“Fred was gone a while before,” Spike said gently, seeing the real distress in her eyes. He told the story of Fred’s transformation into the Old One, Illyria, a little surprised at how strongly Willow seemed to feel.

 

Willow shook her head. “I don’t understand, Spike. Why didn’t you guys call me? I would have—I don’t know. Maybe I wouldn’t have been able to do anything, but I would have tried.”

 

“We did call you,” Spike replied. “At least, Angel called Giles.”

 

The room temperature suddenly dropped several degrees. “Is that right?” Willow asked, her tone deceptively mild. Buffy and Dawn exchanged looks. “Well, I’m suddenly very curious to know why Giles was in charge of determining my schedule.”

 

The three of them trailed after Willow with some trepidation as she went to face Giles in his study. The redhead was looking a bit like she was preparing to rain doom down on the chief Watcher’s head. “Ah, Buffy, you’re back. How did the shopping trip go?” Giles said, glancing up as they came in. For a moment, it almost felt like old times, all of them trooping into the library.

 

Of course, in those days, Willow didn’t do a lot of the raining of the doom.

 

“It was good,” Buffy said mildly, moving a little closer to Spike, announcing her allegiance to anyone who cared.

 

Willow cleared her throat to get Giles’ attention, and then said, a thin edge of threat in her tone, “I want to know why I wasn’t informed of Fred’s condition, Giles.”

 

Giles blinked, obviously not quite understanding her reference, and then a deep flush started spreading up from his collar. “Oh, well, you know, you were dealing with things in South America at the time. I thought it best not to pull you away.”

 

Spike couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a hint of veins. “Fred was my friend,” Willow said coldly. “You had no right to take that decision from me. I might have been able to save her!” She gestured back at Spike. “You nearly doomed us all, Giles! If the Powers hadn’t intervened, the entire world might have ended. It’s a miracle that Spike’s even here. If we had known—” She broke off. “I’ve lost too many friends to be okay with losing more.”

 

It was a decidedly odd feeling, to be the one being defended by one of the Scoobies. Watching Willow rake Giles over the coals, for the sake of his friends, was priceless. It felt wonderful. And the fact that neither Buffy nor Dawn seemed inclined to leap to Giles’ defense any time soon was even better. For once in his life, Spike didn’t feel like the outsider.

 

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel as though he was fighting a losing battle. Spike felt a little like he’d just come home.

 

Willow finished up her speech by saying very calmly, and very deliberately, “I understand that you had reservations about Wolfram & Hart, Giles, but Fred was my friend. I had the right to make the decision about whether or not I would help her.”

 

Giles didn’t look at all pleased about getting a dressing-down in front of the others, but he nodded stiffly. “Of course, Willow. Forgive me.”

 

“I’m not sure that it’s me you need to apologize to,” Willow replied, turning to sweep majestically out of the room. Spike turned to watch, impressed, a warm feeling starting in his chest and spreading through him.

 

With a sense of disbelief, Spike watched as Giles turned to face him. “Spike, I am sorry for your losses. And I’m sorry I didn’t do more to help.”

 

Spike, who was feeling a growing sense of unreality, could only nod, his emotions sticking in his throat. Giles’ words didn’t make losing Fred easier; justice was not possible. But it helped to know that someone else mourned her, that someone else felt the same anger.

 

He felt Dawn loop her arm through his. “I want to see these new clothes you and Buffy got,” she announced. “Xander’s not going to be here for a while, so you’ve got time to model for me.”

 

Spike let himself be soothed by Dawn’s cheerful presence. Their reconciliation was a salve more efficacious that anything else might have been. Giles was left to face Buffy’s disapproving gaze, however, twice in the same day. “You aren’t going to go on a power trip like Travers did, are you?”

 

Giles hated being wrong, hated feeling this defensive—hated that his actions might have caused a number of people their lives. “I think I’ve been sufficiently humbled to avoid that.”

 

The Slayer heard the thinly disguised anger in his tone, and rightly guessed that most of it was self-directed. Buffy was sorry for it, if only because Christmas was the day after tomorrow, and she’d wanted it to be a happy reunion, rather than a time for recriminations. “Giles—” she stopped, deciding that Giles would work it out his own way, in his own time. “When is Xander coming in?”

 

“In a couple hours,” he replied, grateful for the change in subject. “There should be a car waiting for him.”

 

Buffy let herself feel a moment of regret for the days when they didn’t have cars at their disposal, when they were so close as to be on top of each other. There had been disadvantages, of course, but there hadn’t been the kind of distance that stretched between them now. It seemed that in spite of her hope for this holiday, the distance was not something that could be fixed.

 

Buffy loved Giles; she even trusted him. He was the face of the Council now, however, and would do as he felt was best. Sometimes he would be wrong. That was the way of things.

 

Despite her new understanding, Buffy said none of this. Instead, she smiled and nodded and said, “Just like old times.”

 

It wasn’t just like old times, however, and Buffy found herself missing her mom with a wave of grief that felt new for its strength. The old longing had not come for a long time now, and she had no idea how to handle it. She found herself thinking that Joyce would have known how to handle Spike, just what to say to make him feel welcome.

 

Joyce would have known what to say to them all as they found themselves drifting these last years. Buffy, with the longing of a child, still sincerely believed that in some things at least, her mother’s kiss could cure everything.

 

She found herself upstairs, watching as Spike showed off one of his new outfits to Dawn, looking a bit sheepish at the attention. He looked up, seeing her standing in the doorway and spread his arms out. “What do you think, Buffy?”

 

In jeans and a red shirt, Spike didn’t look so different from his old self, although the denim was blue, and not black. He was new in her eyes, though, and Buffy found herself drinking in the sight of him hungrily.

 

It suddenly didn’t matter that her relationship with Giles would never be what it once was. Nor did it matter that Joyce was gone, as that was an old grief, and would subside a bit after the holidays. Buffy knew that because that was how it always was.

 

It didn’t matter because with Spike, at least, she had a second chance, and those were few and far between. Buffy would be content with what she had for once.

 

“You look great.” It was true on many levels.

 

~~~~~

 

If Spike were to be honest, what had most scared him about seeing Buffy again wasn’t her. That part of it was nerve-wracking, and he honestly hadn’t been certain he would survive another rejection, but there had been some part of him that had known she spoke truth in the Hellmouth. Maybe it was the soul itself that had known, since she had touched it for just a moment.

 

No, what had worried him the most had been her friends, most of whom he had not parted on friendly terms with. There was still some small part of him that remembered that it had been the looming disapproval of the Scoobies that had kept them apart that year. Well, not only friends. Buffy had been in a bad place, and Spike knew he hadn’t helped much on that front, even though he’d tried.

 

Willow’s seeming whole-hearted approval of him, and honest grief over the loss of Angel and his gang, took the edge off his worry. Xander hadn’t yet arrived, however, and Spike found himself tensing up as the time approached.

 

Spike hung back as he watched the others greet the man as he walked through the door. Tanned and fit, Xander looked well. Africa had been good for him, refining his strength and easing the grief that had settled into his very bones.

 

Buffy murmured something into Xander’s ear as she hugged him, and the dark-haired man looked past her to where Spike stood in the entry way. To his credit, Xander didn’t even blink. “Spike.”

 

“Harris.”

 

There was a moment of silence as they each sized one another up. In some strange way, they were meeting for the first time all over again, and Xander was the first to speak. “Never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you, Spike.”

 

Staring at the hand that was being offered, Spike finally took it, feeling the last of the tension seep from him. “Good to be seen,” he replied after a brief pause. “Africa agreed with you.”

 

“Yeah, it did,” he agreed, and then they were both swept away in the flurry of questions and comments that came from all sides.

 

~~~~~

 

Later, Spike sat in Giles’ sitting room, letting the others’ words wash over him. Far from feeling the odd man out, he felt comfortable in their presence in a way he’d have said was impossible once upon a time.

 

He thought perhaps that this was what a soldier home from a war must feel like—as though after long months of taut nerves it was possible to let down one’s guard. As though it might be possible to rest, at least for a time.

 

Spike didn’t try and fool himself that he would never enter another battle. He had been spared for a reason, retained his strength for some purpose. Someday he would be strong enough to leap back into the fray. Knowing himself as he did, Spike didn’t think it would take all that long; he liked the excitement of a good fight too much.

 

Now, however, he let himself drift, almost dozing off next to Buffy where they sat on the couch. It was after midnight when she prodded him into awareness enough to follow her up the stairs to her room.

 

Spike was not so drowsy that he didn’t see her friends’ knowing looks, or the way she ignored them all.

 

Nor was he too tired to respond when she kissed him goodnight, as a woman kisses her lover—both sweet and hungry.

 

When he slept, it was with her flavor still lingering on his lips. 


	4. Love

Buffy woke early the next morning, rising almost immediately. Spike was still sleeping deeply, his face calm. He looked younger, the lines around his mouth and eyes easing. Pausing briefly to touch his hair with a gentle hand, she went out to find herself a cup of coffee.

 

Xander was already in the kitchen when she came down, and Buffy was a little surprised to see him awake already. In Sunnydale, he’d never been one for rising early if he didn’t need to be at a construction site. “What are you doing up?”

 

He greeted her with a half-smile and poured her a cup of coffee. “Time difference plus jet lag,” he said in explanation. “But I’m used to getting up early these days. How’s Spike?”

 

Both the question and the tone behind it surprised her. Xander not only didn’t sound mocking, but also rather concerned. “Sleeping. I don’t think he’s been able to do much of that for the past few months.”

 

“Yeah, probably not,” Xander agreed. “It’s tough to lose friends.” He gave her a concerned look, his good eye focusing on her intently. “How are you with all of this, Buf? I know you and Angel hadn’t seen each other in a while, but…”

 

Buffy swallowed hard, the grief that had been threatening welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know, Xander. I mean, it’s just so good to have Spike here, but Angel—” Tears choked her words, and she suddenly found herself engulfed in one of Xander’s bear hugs.

 

They stayed like that for a few minutes as Buffy’s shoulders shook with silent sobs, her old friend patting her back comfortingly. When she pulled back, Buffy gave him an embarrassed smile. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” he said simply. “You and Spike?”

 

“I don’t know,” Buffy replied. “I never thought I’d get another chance, and now here it is.”

 

Xander smiled. “Well, if I were you, I’d strike while the iron’s hot. It’s not every day the undead comes back the living dead.”

 

It was a bad pun, but there was no malice there. Xander was just being Xander, looking at her with the expression an older brother might have for a sister who had just found herself a problematic boyfriend. The teasing was obligatory.

 

“When did you get all mature?” Buffy asked, thankful that he wasn’t going to make a big deal over her and Spike, and that he was so understanding about Angel.

 

“Africa had something to do with it,” he admitted. “It’s simpler there, in a way. Different.” A flush spread over his face. “And there’s a woman.”

 

Buffy grinned broadly. “Really? Let’s hear it.”

 

He shrugged. “It’s pretty new. She’s from Kenya. Tall, gorgeous, the whole thing.” Xander shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I’m still trying to figure out what she sees in me.”

 

Buffy’s serious look was lightened by the smile in her eyes. “Probably the same thing I’m seeing right now.”

 

Xander reached across the table to grab her hand affectionately. “Thanks, Buffy. It’s just—I still miss her, you know? Every day. So when you get a second chance with somebody, you can’t waste it. I get that now.” Xander—who Buffy had thought would be the boy that never grew up—suddenly looked much older than his twenty-odd years. “I get a lot of things now.”  


“Me too,” Buffy murmured, and their eyes met in shared grief. “Me too.”

 

~~~~~

 

Spike woke to find Buffy already gone, her spot on the bed cold. Pulling a shirt over his head, he wandered downstairs, thinking mostly of his Slayer and a cup of tea. It had been a long time since Spike had allowed himself to think of Buffy as “his” Slayer, but the idea was creeping back into his head.

 

He’d never expected this degree of comfort with her; he hadn’t been sure what to expect, actually, but he was fairly certain that this scenario—them sharing a bed, her being this happy to see him—had never entered into even his wildest dreams.

 

Buffy and Xander were talking in the kitchen when he entered. Harris rose immediately with his own mug, giving Spike a half smile as he left the kitchen. “Think I’ll go take a shower,” he commented.

 

Spike saw the look on Buffy’s face and frowned. “You okay, luv?”

 

“I’m fine,” she replied, immediately regretting her dismissal of his concerns when his expression closed. “We were just talking about Angel.”

 

Spike was immediately sorry he’d asked. “Oh, right.”

 

“Just because I’m sorry he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m still in love with him, Spike,” Buffy said, a trace of impatience in her voice.

 

He rolled his eyes in turn. “I know that. It’s just—I’m sorry I had to be the one to bring the news, yeah?”

 

“I’m not,” Buffy replied quickly. “I mean, I’m sorry about the news, but I’m not sorry you were the one to bring it.” She gave him a look. “You are staying, aren’t you? Not right here, of course, but you’ll think about staying with me?”

 

“You sure you want me to?” Spike asked in reply.

 

She just gave him a look. “Duh.”

 

Spike chuckled. “Got it. Yeah, Buffy, think I might want to stay after all.”

 

Their eyes met and a certain unspoken understanding passed between them. “We could get our own place,” Buffy suggested. “If you want.”

 

“You don’t think we’re moving too fast, do you?” Spike asked, mock concern on his face.

 

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “If it were anyone but us, yes. I think living together is the logical next step, though, and it’s not like you’ve got a better offer.”

 

“That’s for sure.” The good humor evaporated from his face, and Buffy could have kicked herself. “Don’t have much, luv.”

 

“Then you can mooch off me for a while,” she said steadily. “I really don’t care, Spike. It’s not like I don’t have money now that the Council is actually paying me—really well, I might add.”

 

He shrugged. “It’s just—dunno, Buffy. Feel like I’ve been drifting pretty aimlessly these last months. Not sure where I’m going from here.”

 

“So how did you manage to get the money for a round trip ticket?” Buffy asked. Dawn had told her about the ticket and where it was located. The Slayer figured that if worst came to worst she could steal it to prevent Spike from leaving.

 

Whatever she might have said, Buffy did not plan on letting Spike out of her sight.

 

He shrugged, looking down at the grain of the table as though it would tell his fortune. “Did some work for different blokes, mostly dangerous. Fenced other stuff.”

 

It was something of an understatement to say that his earning methods had been both dangerous and shady. There had been some petty thievery involved, as well as quite a bit of gambling and some prizefights. He’d had the advantage of appearing to be human, which meant most underestimated him. Unfortunately, that meant they got pretty nasty when they realized they’d been had.

 

There had been at least two times that Spike had escaped from an angry mob of demons by the skin of his teeth. It hadn’t been pleasant.

 

Of the things he took from the AI gang’s apartments, Spike had kept a few small items for remembrance—a small, stuffed rabbit from Fred, one of Wesley’s well-worn first editions, one of Gunn’s knives. And one small picture he’d found in a box deep within the bowels of the Hyperion—Angel and Cordy with their heads together over a baby.

 

It had been after he’d found the picture that Spike had gone to look for Connor. It was a few weeks after the big battle, and Spike had begun to think the Senior Partners weren’t going to send anyone after him. As soon as Connor had seen him walking up, he’d known.

 

The conversation had been quick and painful. Spike had described the battle, and Connor had nodded once, twice, and then had surreptitiously wiped a hand over his face. There had been a few other pictures, which Spike had offered to Connor.

 

The boy had taken them, thanked him gravely for coming, and then turned to leave, stopping only briefly to ask, “Weren’t you a vampire?”

 

Since they’d been standing outside in the bright sunshine, Spike couldn’t blame Connor for his confusion. “I was. I’m sorry.”

 

They both knew that Spike was apologizing for being the one to survive, for being the one to become human. For the fact that Connor and his father would never get that second chance that they had deserved.

 

Spike had had every intention of returning to L.A. when he’d left for Rome, so he’d hidden the small collection of keepsakes in a box in the basement of the old hotel. With any luck, they would remain undisturbed until he had the chance to retrieve it.

 

Not knowing how else to do it, Spike had written a letter to Fred’s parents, knowing that they wouldn’t understand about her transformation into Illyria, but that there was little chance they’d ever see their daughter again. He’d found their address and a half-written letter in Wesley’s apartment and had used that as his template.

 

After the incident with the cyborg, Spike somehow doubted that he needed to bother doing the same for Wesley’s parents, and Gunn didn’t have a family.

 

In the end, the only people left to inform were Buffy and the rest of them. Over the course of things, Spike realized that there were few things he disliked more than delivering bad news.

 

He didn’t tell Buffy any of this, however. It was still too new, too fresh; there had been so many losses in such a short time that Spike had no idea how to handle it. So much heartbreak, so much fear, so much—as Buffy had called it—survivor’s guilt. Sitting here at Giles’ kitchen table with Buffy, with her holding onto him like she’d never let him go, the pain was easier to bear. That didn’t mean it was easy.

 

Buffy watched as Spike went somewhere, his eyes looking off into the distance at something invisible to her own eyes. She squeezed his hand, offering what comfort she could. It was all she really had to offer.

 

Buffy knew from her own experience that time was the only possible remedy for grief, and even then it was a poor solution. She could feed him and buy him new clothes and just be there—but it wouldn’t touch the losses he’d seen. After all, she’d had her own losses to grieve over.

 

Spike shook himself out of his thoughts, glancing over to smile at Buffy. “Sorry, luv. I’ll tell you one of these days.”

 

“Whenever,” she replied, managing to sound breezy and unconcerned. “Got any big plans for today?”

 

He looked thoughtful. “Dunno. Is someone cooking Christmas dinner?”

 

“Willow and her friend, Aiden, are cooking. Aiden told her he’d treat us to a real Christmas meal, since none of us really can cook.”

 

Spike frowned, trying to figure out if he’d heard that name somewhere before. “Aiden?”

 

“One of the witches in the coven,” Buffy replied, then looked puzzled. “Or is it warlock? I never can remember if that’s the PC term for a male witch or not.” At Spike’s expression, Buffy grinned. “Didn’t anybody tell you? Willow’s thinking about dating him. You should see him. He’s gorgeous and absolutely perfect for her. We’re just happy it’s not Kennedy.”

 

Spike’s puzzled look changed to one of distaste. “That bint was a bit much.”

 

“You said it, I didn’t,” Buffy replied, all the while heartily agreeing. No one had been terribly surprised when Willow had called to let them know that she and Kennedy had broken up. Or when she had asked for a transfer to England in order to study and help the coven for a while. Giles had granted her request for relocation without making any comments, and it wasn’t long before remarks about a certain witch of the male persuasion became rather frequent. “Anyway, they’ve been moving in that direction for a couple months. We’re all just waiting for Wills to make the big announcement.”

 

When he didn’t say anything else, Buffy reached over to touch his face. “What were you thinking?”

 

Spike looked sheepish, and then shrugged. It was his little-boy face that melted Buffy right into a puddle. They hadn’t done the major sex scene yet, but Buffy had thought to give him a little time to settle in before she jumped his bones.

 

In fact, she’d thought perhaps that Spike might consent to be her Christmas present.

 

“Uh, thought about going to a Christmas Eve service.” Spike got a far-away look in his eyes again, but this time it was less sad and more nostalgic. “Haven’t done that since I was turned. Went with my mum that last Christmas. It’s sort of a tradition, you know.”

 

Buffy smiled. She remembered going to the Christmas services at church a few times. Her mom was a sporadic attendee at best, but she’d always liked going and singing the carols as a child. After the move to Sunnydale—well, after Buffy had become the Slayer—they had somehow never managed to make it. There was always patrol to do, crises to avert. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll go with, if you want.”

 

Spike smiled gratefully, glad that she seemed to understand. “I’d like that, pet.”

 

~~~~~

 

The day was spent pleasantly enough with Xander, Willow, and Dawn, along with Aiden. Giles made an appearance later in the afternoon. Giles was a bit stiff with everyone until he realized no one was going to act on grudges held, whatever their private thoughts might involve.

 

Aiden had shown up about the same time with both the necessary ingredients for dinner and a couple of young Slayers in tow. The girls hadn’t been able to make it home for the holidays, and so had been invited to spend Christmas with Giles and the rest.

 

The day itself had a cheerfully chaotic feel to it. Aiden quickly put Spike and Xander to work once he determined that they could both be trusted with some of the cooking. There wasn’t much room in Giles’ kitchen, and so, in a role reversal of sorts, it was Aiden, Xander and Spike who prepared dinner while the girls trimmed Giles’ tree and put up other decorations.

 

Almost in spite of himself, Spike began to get that happy feeling that comes from being surrounded by people you like and who like you in return. Not that he was all that fond of everyone. Giles certainly wasn’t making his list of favorite people these days. But wasn’t that what being around family was all about? There were always relatives you couldn’t stand, people you could only handle being around for three days out of every year.

 

Spike personally believed that’s why Christmas only came once a year, because no one wanted to be around their entire family for much more than that.

 

Even so, Aiden turned out to be a genuinely nice bloke, and a good cook. Xander mostly chopped vegetables and entertained them with tales of Africa, including the story of a weeklong trek out into the bush with his girlfriend.

 

They all ate together in the living room, in scattered groups on furniture and floor. Dawn and the two Slayers, Monica and Sam, were discussing the relative charms of Prince William and Johnny Depp. Aiden and Willow were deep in conversation over some of the doings of the coven, with Giles occasionally chipping in.

 

“You should have invited your girlfriend, Xander,” Buffy said as he came over to sit next to her and Spike. It was obvious from the look on his face that he felt as though he was playing the third wheel.

 

Xander shrugged. “I didn’t realize it was a ‘bring your date’ kind of thing.”

 

“Sorry, mate,” Spike said. “I kind of got dragged along by the Bit. Started out in Rome, and she swore up and down that Buffy would kill her for leaving me there.”

 

Xander looked surprised. “I didn’t mean you, Spike. I mean, you’re one of us. Not that I was expecting you, but…”

 

The tips of Spike’s ears turned pink with pleasure, much to Buffy’s amusement. “Thanks,” he muttered.

 

Xander did the guy thing and completely ignored Spike’s embarrassment. “Well, I figure once you die to save the world, you’re pretty much in. Actually, that puts you and Buffy in a category all your own.”

 

“Pretty much,” Buffy agreed, enjoying Spike’s discomfiture. “I guess that means we’re perfect for each other.”

 

At that point, a sly grin crossed Spike’s face, bordering on a smirk. It was so reminiscent of the old Spike that Buffy wanted to jump for joy. “Never thought I’d hear you admit I was right.”

 

She glared. “You never—” There was a long pause as Buffy realized that Spike had indeed tried to convince her of just that on numerous occasions. “Well, okay maybe you did, but—” She sighed and broke off. “Fine. You were right.”

 

Both men grinned—Spike because Buffy had finally admitted he was right about something and Xander because he was feeling a moment of male solidarity. Xander himself hadn’t had many chances to hear those particular words from any of his girlfriends, but he remembered each and every occasion with pleasure. “Careful, Spike. She’ll probably make you regret it later.”

 

“Xander!” Buffy protested. “I am not that much of a bitch!”

 

There was a moment of silence where the implications of that statement were taken into consideration. Spike considered a number of remarks and discarded all of them, not wanting to jeopardize the easy camaraderie they’d just found. Xander didn’t have any qualms at all, however. “No, probably not that much of one,” he said cheerfully.

 

Buffy shrieked her annoyance and mock-slapped him. Xander pretended to be hurt, all the while grinning madly. Spike just watched, for once feeling very much a part of things.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike took the black scarf Buffy was holding out to him with an eye-roll. “It’s not that cold outside, luv.”

 

“Maybe not, but the temperature could drop,” she pointed out reasonably. “And you can’t argue that you don’t feel the cold anymore either.”

 

Buffy fussing over him was too nice to argue about, so Spike wrapped the scarf around his neck, shrugging into his duster. Dawn’s voice stopped them as they were about to head out the door. Dinner had been held late enough that they’d decided to go to the midnight service. They hadn’t invited anyone else, wanting to spend the time alone.

 

“Hey,” Dawn said breathlessly. “I wanted to catch you before you left, Spike.”

 

He smiled at her. “What’s up, Bit?”

 

Dawn held out an envelope. “Well, I didn’t really have any time to get you a Christmas gift, but I wanted to get you something, you know? Anyway, I just thought that maybe you could open it now, while it’s just us. Tomorrow is going to be crazy, and it’s almost Christmas anyway.”

 

Spike hadn’t given much thought to presents, and he took Dawn’s gift with some hesitation. While he didn’t have a lot of money, he would have liked to get something for his girls, but that just wasn’t going to be possible at this late date.

 

He ran his finger under the flap and pulled out the piece of paper inside. Reading silently, Spike looked up at the girl, silently asking if she was really serious. At her nod, he looked back down at the slip of paper that read: _Good for an honorary membership in the Summers family. Includes room and board as necessary and unlimited hot chocolate with marshmallows._

 

Spike had to blink away the tears in his eyes. Dawn threw her arms around him before he could do much else, and he found himself holding her tightly. “Ta, Sweet Bit.”

 

“I mean it,” Dawn said fiercely. “I never want you to think we don’t want you around again.”

 

Pulling back slightly, Spike met her blue eyes with his own. “Right. Absolutely. Wouldn’t dream of staying away now. Not when I can get hot chocolate any time.”

 

The girl released him as quickly as she’d grabbed hold. “You guys better get going. You’re going to be late.” Then, with an impish grin, Dawn ordered, “And don’t you dare be too noisy tonight. You’ll give Giles a heart attack.”

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy had never really given religion much thought. She had fought evil day in and day out with her own hands—and sometimes a weapon—and never saw any indication that there was a God. And if there was one, Buffy wanted to have some words with him about the state of things. She really thought he might have done a better job ordering the universe.

 

This Christmas, however, Buffy didn’t have a lot of complaints, not with Spike’s warm hand secure in her own. Looking around the sanctuary, she could see old people and young children, couples and families and men and women standing alone. They were all singing about peace on earth, and the expressions on their faces suggested that they believed it might actually be possible. They were all there because in some way it meant something to them to stand with family in a midnight service.

 

Perhaps, like Spike, it was tradition, some tie to a past they’d lost. Or maybe, like for her, it was something new, meant to mark a new beginning.

 

So as they sang about peace and hope and love, Buffy found herself glad for the first time in a while that she was one of the people that was actually working towards that goal. The Slayer’s job was a dangerous and dirty one, oftentimes, but it was necessary, vital. She could honestly say that she made the world a better place to live. Even though she’d been taking a break from that life, it was time to pick up her stake again.

 

As Spike had once said, for Christmas and puppies and all that.

 

In some way, Buffy would be heading back out into battle in Spike’s stead, so he could rest for a time.

 

She leaned against Spike, laying her head against his shoulder. His smoky voice filled her ears, and Buffy was content to listen to the words of the unfamiliar carol. “All my heart this night rejoices, as I hear far and near, sweetest angel voices…”

 

Spike wrapped an arm around Buffy as she leaned up against him. Hearing the familiar liturgy, singing the songs he’d sung so many years ago, it felt like a refuge. For a moment at least he could almost believe again—believe that all might be right in the world. For a moment he could recapture a bit of the man he had been so long ago, the best bit, the belief that people were generally kind and that life could be sweet.

 

Hope had been reborn in him from the ashes of his grief. As he let the homily wash over him, Spike remembered a poem he’d heard once:

 

_Hope is the thing with feathers_

_That perches in the soul,_

_And sings the tune without the words,_

_And never stops at all_

He never could remember the rest of it, but he’d thought he left hope behind in that alley behind the Hyperion. And yet it seemed as though it was only waiting till the right moment to begin singing again.

 

The vicar spoke the benediction, releasing them out into the night air, now awash with snowflakes. They both stopped outside the church on the street, lifting their faces to the heavens, watching as the snow came down.

 

It wet their faces, melting on warm skin, streaming down like tears. Buffy looked at Spike, and thought he was crying. “Spike? Are you okay?”

 

He met her eyes with a smile, and it was the same sort of smile he’d worn in that cavern in the Hellmouth, his soul streaming out of him in great beams of light. It was the smile of a man who finally knew his purpose in the world: equal parts hope and peace and joy and love.

 

And, as it had been then, so was it now. Buffy found that she could not hold the words back, nor did she want to. “I love you, Spike.”

 

The smile changed into a grin, and he laughed—the laughter of a child who has just received the perfect Christmas gift. “I know.” Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth, leaving her hanging for a moment. “I love you too, Buffy.”

 

Standing in the falling snow on a London street, they kissed. Spike’s lips were as cold as they had ever been, but that was from the chilly air. His tongue was warm as he tasted her, and she drank him in hungrily.

 

It was both old and new. It was perfect—and it was only a whisper of things to come. For once in his long life, Spike really believed that it could only get better.

 

It was going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
